


Absolution

by indigostohelit (orphan_account)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angels, Forgiveness, Hebrew, M/M, Religion, church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:05:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/indigostohelit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He began to pray last night, his lips moving in a frantic sequence of baruch ata adonai eloheinu melech haolam at first, then slipping through the bits of Latin he’s picked up throughout his travels, then finally resorting to English as the words the rabbis and preachers and ministers he’s heard fail, one after another, and all he can whisper is please please please I’ll do anything please please please hear me help me and no one answers and no one responds and heaven will not hear him, will not help him, will not come.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolution

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Temptation](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/4001) by ~somachiou. 



> I know the original picture is about Sherlock and John, but shhhhh.

Erik’s eyes are closed, his knees beginning to ache from the hard ground, his face becoming warm in the growing sunlight. The crystal windows are spilling out a million shards of light over the church floor, the shadows of the tree branches dancing with each new breeze.

He began to pray last night, his lips moving in a frantic sequence of _baruch ata adonai eloheinu melech haolam_ at first, then slipping through the bits of Latin he’s picked up throughout his travels, then finally resorting to English as the words the rabbis and preachers and ministers he’s heard fail, one after another, and all he can whisper is _please please please I’ll do anything please please please hear me help me_ and no one answers and no one responds and heaven will not hear him, will not help him, will not come.

The shadows swirl on the floor, and Erik takes a breath of the dusty church air and tries to begin again. _Blessed are you God King of the Universe who gives us life who sustains us glorified and sanctified be God’s name throughout the universe—_ he switches to English— _speak to me, send me a sign, help me, give me—_

“Erik Lehnsherr,” says a voice.

Erik glances up for a moment and then snaps his gaze down; the figure before him, floating above the pulpit, is too magnificent for his eyes. It is radiating such light that he is blinded, and the wings spread at its sides are like storm and shadow and the endless expanse of the sky.

“Here I am,” he whispers, his throat dry from prayer.

“You asked so loudly,” says the angel, its voice coming closer, “and with such passion, and for so long.”

“You heard me?” asks Erik.

“Of course,” says the angel, and there is something in its voice that in a human Erik would describe as tenderness. “Of course.”

“Then you know what I asked for,” says Erik, his eyes still down, “and why I did-“

“Yes,” says the angel.

“Then you know,” whispers Erik, “that I don’t deserve it.”

There is a little catch in the angel’s voice when it answers him next. “Erik,” it says, just that, and Erik cannot help but wince in pain at its tone.

“I do not,” Erik says, cutting it off. “I deserve punishment. I deserve to be beaten, to be tortured, to be destroyed. I deserve to be hurt, don’t lie to me, I do not deserve-” His voice breaks.

“Erik,” says the angel again. Erik can tell by its voice that it’s right in front of him.

“Hurt me,” says Erik, his voice almost inaudible. “Punish me. Just undo what I did. Send me to Hell, let me pay the penalty I must pay, but-“

“Erik,” says the angel. Erik feels a burning hand stroke his cheek. “Punishment won’t bring you peace.”

“I don’t want peace,” Erik says.

“Then what is it you want?” asks the angel.

Erik whispers, “Absolution.”

There is a choked laugh from the angel, and its burning fingers take his chin and tilt it up. And Erik’s eyes fly open, and the angel is there, its face clear and its eyes intent and glittering with tears. The great shadows of its wings are spread wide on either side of its face, and the space around it is glowing.

“Forgive me,” Erik whispers. “Please.”

“I gave it before you asked,” says Charles, “my friend.”

Erik reaches out a hand, and Charles takes it. The windows are alive with the sunlight pouring in, and the floor is dancing with it, a thousand shining spots, more than the eye can bear. Erik whispers, “Are we dead?”

“Yes,” says Charles, simply.

And here he is, as he has always been, his lips quirked in a half-smile, his gaze on Erik. Erik reaches his free hand out to touch Charles’ cheek, and Charles leans forward, and Erik closes his eyes and lets himself feel Charles’ burning lips on his.

The light grows brighter and brighter, the windows dancing and shining with it, until they are out of sight.


End file.
